The Messenger of Death
by KratistosX987
Summary: Thirteen years after the Second Battle of the Hoover Dam, where both the New California Republic and Caesar's Legion were both dealt a crushing defeat and forced to withdraw, an independent New Vegas and a free Mojave thrives in the shadow of the Courier, though no one has seen him for years now. Until now. There's one last loose end to tie up. Tonight, it ends.


**Disclaimer:** This story is written using the setting and the characters of Bethesada's Fallout franchise, and as such, they all belong to Bethesada. Original characters, fictional locations, and such are all entirely made up and any resemblance to other people/places is purely coincidental. If you find a reason to sue me, proceed. Just be warned, I'm virtually penniless and have a cute little puppy that relies on me for food and a warm place to sleep. A puppy, people. Don't be cruel.

 **THE MESSENGER OF DEATH**

 **A Companion Story to BRAVE NEW WORLD**

* * *

" _War is Peace. Freedom is Slavery. Ignorance is Strength."_

 _George Orwell, English Novelist and Journalist_

" _Resilience is all about being able to overcome the unexpected. Sustainability is about survival. The goal is resilience is to thrive."_

 _Jamais Cascio, American Author and Futurist_

" _Humankind seems to have an enormous capacity for savagery, for brutality, for lack of empathy, for lack of compassion."_

 _Annie Lennox, Scottish Singer and Activist_

* * *

The Mojave Wasteland.

A fucking shithole in this crapsack of a post-apocalyptic world, by anyone's standards. Though, with how hot it was these days, if he owned property in both the Mojave and Hell, he'd have lived in Hell instead and rented out the Mojave.

It was hot enough to make you wish for a nuclear winter, for fuck's sake…

And the night was unreasonably warm tonight, more so than usual. But that didn't matter to the man. It was a very special night to him, after all. It would be on this night that a bloody quest thirteen years in the making would finally come to an end.

A quest that began here, at this very spot, little over a decade ago.

The man looked up from where he was leaning, his back against the rusted water tower. There was more people here though. Far more than there had been thirteen years ago. Back then, it had been just him and four assholes, along with a bullet to the head.

Didn't take though. The man chuckled as he lit up his cigar, the flame on his engraved lighter illuminating his twisted and scarred face. He was certainly the biggest one out of everyone here, at an imposing six feet and seven inches. There wasn't much hair to him, not when he preferred keeping himself shaved. Makes it harder for some asshole to grab your hair when you ain't got any, eh? There was plenty of scars though. More than most people pick up in a lifetime.

The one that stood out among them all, though?

It was the one that looked as if someone had taken a knife to his cheek and ripped it in half. It was an ugly seam of flesh that looked as if it had been stitched together then cauterized. But for all the good it did, it only made the man's smile even more sinister. And these days, if you didn't know who you were talking to, one look at that gruesome scar and you fucking knew it then…

There wasn't a soul within a thousand miles of the Mojave that didn't know him. His reputation made sure of that.

Reputation certainly is a beautiful thing, friend. You use it right, it's better than any weapon in your arsenal. Joshua Graham and the Dead Horses knew it better than anyone else. Except for the man, 'course. And more importantly, you wrap yourself up just right in your own reputation, it's stronger than any armor you'll find in the Wasteland, and far more snug than your own skin.

Must'va been a thousand years ago when some cunt asked whenever it was better for a man to be loved or feared. Well, there's his goddamn answer now, yeah? Fear was what had kept him alive for so many years now. Fear of him. Fear of his wrath. Fear of his inability to die. Fear of all his atrocities.

Fear… of the Man without Fear.

It was that very fear that kept the crowd here enthralled to him. More than three dozen, maybe. Maybe closer to fifty, if you included all the bastards around the town.

Goodsprings. It had been a charming little town back then. Sorta. Maybe if you tilted your head and squinted a bit.

No, not really. It was just a boil on the ass that was the Mojave Wasteland. Folk there were sure nice back then, though. Digging him out of his own grave. Fixing him up and sending him on his way.

And the thanks they got?

Well… Long story short, Goodsprings' a goddamn graveyard now.

Trudy. Chet. Sunny Smiles and her damn dog. Easy Pete. The Doc. Stupid fucking Ringo and the fucking Powder Gangers. And so many more… Well. Plenty of unmarked graves now.

Goodsprings was quiet. As quiet as the grave. Everyone present knew better than to annoy the man in charge. After all, he had sent the NCR packing and broke the Legion. Had brought down Mr. House himself. He was the reason the Mojave Wasteland didn't belong to the Republic or the Legion. If there was anyone that a free and independent New Vegas owed her freedom to, it was him.

And they all knew it.

The man took a long hit on his cigar as his underlings brought forward another man. The one man he wanted more than anyone else. The man who began all of this would finally come face to face with the man who would end all of it. Heh, how's that for symmetry?

They pushed him forward then, and he stumbled before falling to his knees, in front of the man before him. The one man he was more afraid of than anything. There were only tears in his eyes and muffled pleas that didn't get past the gag in his mouth. He stank of fear and everyone here knew it.

No one more than the man before Be-

"From where you're kneeling, it must seem like an 18-carat run of bad luck. Truth is… The game was rigged from the start."

Benny tried standing then, only to be forced back onto his knees by one of the men behind him, wearing the red of Caesar's Legion. The other, his Great Khans origins clear as fuck, grabbed his hair and pulled him up to look at the man ahead of Benny.

And the man approached Benny, grinning that terrible sneer of his. "Thirteen years, Ben-man. It all ends tonight. You had yourself a good long run, but it's over." He took another hit on his cigar before flicking it aside. The lighter was still in his other hand, though, and he rubbed his thumb against it. "Heh, gotta give you credit, though. You lasted a lot longer than I expected…" He looked up at the crowd around them, then back at Benny. "Bet you're wondering about all this."

He lowered himself to eye level with Benny. "It's funny… Back then, all I wanted was to kill your goddamn ass for putting a bullet in my head. But… We both went through so much, didn't we? Got quite a bit of shit done here and there, didn't we? You had balls, didn't you? Trying to take down House. 'Course it didn't work, did it? Because you went running to Caesar."

The man stood up then. "Should have taken up Caesar on his offer. Should have plugged one in your goddamn head back then. But no, I had bigger things to worry about back then, and I didn't figure you'd be so fucking good at disappearing, not with how swanky you are."

He looked to his side and gestured then, before being given a half empty bottle of vodka, He took a good swallow from it before returning his attention to Benny. "Thirteen years, goddamn. Practically ancient history at this point, eh? And tonight, we're writing the final chapter on this whole fucking adventure of ours, Benny. And we gonna write it in your blood, believe me." He grinned then.

"Or my name ain't Ryder Driscoll."

He turned around, taking another swallow from his bottle as he stared off into the distance, toward the shining lights of New Vegas. "Six fucking months after the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, I was the fucking King, Benny. Then you know what happened? I got bored. Got bored of the throne."

Ryder looked back at Benny then, smiling still. "Made sure to lay down the law, though. Just because my ass ain't in that throne, doesn't mean it doesn't belong to me no more. The Families are looking after her for me. Cachino's Omertas. Your boy Swank's Chairmen. The King and his, heh, Kings. Swank sends his regards, incidentally." He tossed the lighter at Benny's face, chuckling as the man groaned in pain from getting stuck by his own lighter. "You're a fucking fink, Benny. The biggest fucking fink of them all."

And so, Ryder started walking around Benny, making his way through the throng of men and women, Legionaires and Great Khans, Raiders and Slavers, though there were far more Legionaires than anyone else present.

"Even though there were plenty of finks to go around back then." He chuckled then, stopping by one of the few trees that made their home in Goodsprings Cemetery, and pulled out his fireaxe out of the trunk. This baby here, he had found it in that irradiated shithole of a town, Camp Searchlight, in the Fire Department. And ever since then, it had served him well. "General Oliver? Fuckin' Wait-and-See? Jesus, that fucking cunt… Must'va been the most worthless bastard in the Mojave. Other than you, Benny, that is. That cunt sure thought he was hot shit, surrounded by his veteran rangers. I made sure he knew he was just plain shit, though, right after demonstrating just how tough his rangers really were."

Ryder placed the fireaxe behind his neck and resumed his steady pace, enjoying just how more and more unnerved Benny was looking by the moment. "Heh. It was rich, honestly. They were good, I'll give them that. Just not as good as they thought they were. Bastards stared death in the face, and death blinked. Maybe they thought that made them invincible. Well, it didn't."

He went on and on around Benny. "Symbolic of the Republic as a whole, really. Thought they could throw their weight around and everyone'd roll over like whipped dogs. Well, it worked… Right up to the day they ran into Caesar and his fucking Legion. Sure didn't think much of him at first, though. Just another fucking tribal to them. Well, he proved them wrong. Ended up being their biggest threat ever. After all… What's a mob to a king?"

Then he came to a stop in front of Benny, and stared down at his last remaining mark. "Caesar, though? Edward fucking Sallow. Him and his little army of make-believe Romans. Heh. You fuckers thought you were so tough too, just because you're all willing to die for a cause." He looked around at his Legionaires then, though he knew they were all the toughest of the toughest, those who didn't fully buy into Caesar's ideals and didn't worship him like a demigod. They were all the same as him. Pragmatic. "Dying doesn't take much. Bunch of homos think just because they're brave enough to get in close and use machetes and spears to butcher their enemies, that makes them tough?"

He turned his attention back to Benny. "The toughest one out of that bunch, though? The fucking Legate. He of the giant fucking sword." Ryder grinned then. "Man, oh man. Lanius. He was a hell of a fighter. But I beat him once. I'll beat him again. The rest of them… Twats in pretty dresses. I'll make proper soldiers out of them once I show them who's really in charge. And here's a motherfuckin' hint, it ain't Lanius or Vulpes Inculta or even Aurelius of fucking Phoenix. Tell him who's in charge!" He shouted then, pointing his fireaxe at Benny.

"Ryder!" Every single fucking one of them yelled back, "Ryder! Ryder!"

"Me!" The man laughed then. "Caesar, though… I heard so goddamn much about him before meeting him in person. The conqueror of… Shit. Eighty whatever tribes. The tyrant of the east. The Son of Mars himself! And in the end… What a fucking disappointment! Just an old man. Worn down to the point of breaking." Ryder sighed then. "Don't get me wrong. I could see the man he had been. The intelligence. The ruthlessness. The fucking balls! It takes balls to forge an empire out of shit-eating tribals and ass-fucking raiders! Balls to instill discipline and loyalty! Balls to take on a legitimate power, a real power like the New California Republic!"

And he smiled again. "Caesar had balls in spades. The cojones of a true Roman imperator. A disappointment, but an impressive one all the same. What he had, what he built… I knew it then. I knew it instantly. I wanted it. He was wrong about a lot of things, but… He had the right idea."

He turned his gaze back to New Vegas once more. "Trying to take on New Vegas, though? Take on House? Stupid fucking shithead and his stupid fucking ideas. Because, you know… What's a king to a god?" But that hadn't been all of it. "I saw something else though. The mind was willing. The flesh wasn't. Caesar had plenty of ambition."

Ryder looked at Benny then. "He just ran out of time, same as we all do at some point. He had a hell of a run, but… It's time for someone's turn now."

"The idea of Legion is still alive, though." Ryder grinned. He gestured to his Legionaires then. "They're scattered, yeah. Divided. Battered and beaten. But not broken. NCR didn't break them. The Securitrons didn't break them. Caesar's death didn't break them. All they need is a strong leader. A new Caesar."

And suddenly came the refrain, "CAESAR!

Ryder grinned then as Benny looked around, the sight of the Legionaires striking their machetes and spears and guns into the air. "Caesar! Caesar! Caesar!" And soon, even the Great Khans joined in, along with the rest of the scum that had arrayed themselves under Ryder.

He held his fireaxe up into the air, silencing everyone. The grin stayed where it was, though. "Lanius may be Caesar now, but he ain't got the fucking numbers. Vulpes Inculta's holding Flagstaff, but a sneaky bastard like him, who's gonna follow him for long? Two sides of the same coin, pally. Lanius' got plenty of might to him, but not much else. Vulpes' sneaky as fuck but..." Ryder chuckled then. "Me, though... I got it all. Brains. Brawn. And a big fucking dick to swing around! And by the time the dust settles, everyone's gonna know who's in charge."

"And then I'll reforge the shattered pieces of Caesar's Legion into a great big fucking spear and skewer everyone else with it."

He laughed then, before tossing his fireaxe toward one of the men closest to him, someone who was the closest thing to a trusted lieutenant. "House, though... Robert Edwin House. The man who thought he was a god. Thought he was King Shit of Fuck Mountain. Well... He wasn't so much a soulless, godless machine god. Just a decrepit old man, clinging to lost science in a pathetic attempt to cheat death. I went down there, you know. Just for shits and giggles, honestly. Deep under Lucky Thirty Eight. Deep into the bowel of the fucking beast... The man himself, in a fucking icebox."

Ryder chuckled then, though he was thinking back now, back thirteen years ago. He hadn't expected to find a relic of the past in a goddamn refrigerator. He might not have known much about pre-war tech... Hell, he didn't know much about post-war tech... But he damn well knew enough to crack open the icebox.

"I pulled that fucker out, right out of his goddamn freezer. Talk about a goddamn disappointment. Fucker went on blubbering and whimpering about how I ruined everything and all. Know what ruined his day even more? The fucking bullet that went through his genius brain. I figured, what the hell, let him figure out a way out of that one." He grinned as Benny stared up at him, hardly able to believe that his one-time mentor, the great and powerful House, was just that, a pathetic old man. "Well, he sure couldn't. Man tried cheating death. That's a no-no, Ben-man. Nobody cheats death..."

Ryder's grin died then. "Man thought he was a god. Well... What's a god to a nonbeliever who doesn't believe in anything?"

He sighed. Soon. It was almost time. For the end of everything.

"They were just the biggest fucking cunts in the town, though. There were plenty of others. I learned plenty from Joshua Graham, you know. The Burned Man himself. And he learned enough from me to take me up on my advice." There was a hint of something in his voice then. Admiration? Respect? Of all the men in the world, there had been no one he liked more than Joshua Graham. It was a shame the man refused his offer to join him back in the Mojave. They would have made a hell of a team.

"He went further north with his people. Dead Horses or some shit like that. And the Sorrows too. Buncha pansy ass motherfuckers. And the New Canaanites? Jesus, bend me over and fuck me right in the ass, talk about delusional!" He laughed then. "But Joshua? Man, he sure had a hard on for vengeance!"

Then he went quiet. "And Sierra Madre. Sierra fucking Madre. A city of ghosts. Fucking cloud. Fucking collars. And all the fucking place was a bitch, lemme tell you. But by the time I walked away, there damn well wasn't anything left moving in that goddamn hellhole. I don't know about you but I've got a theoretical degree in genocide." Ryder grinned then. "Fucking Fantastic. If I ever see that asshole again, I'm feeding him hot lead."

"But yeah," he went on then, "Elijah tried ghosting the whole Mojave with his fucking cloud. Don't get me wrong, I'd have done the same thing if I was him, but... I wasn't him, you know? Couldn't let him do his thing when it was gonna fuck with my thing. So I put the fucker down. Almost got my ass locked up in the goddamn casino too, which would have been fantastic news for you, but no, Lady Luck was on my side. Hell, I've been throatfucking Lady Luck from day one. The day you fucking popped a bullet into my goddamn skull..."

He grinned then and cracked his knuckles. "Sierra Madre was one thing, but... Big Mountain, that was a whole 'nother thing, friend. You probably know it better as Big Empty. Old World Blues and all that crap. Well, that place was a special kind of bullshit. I damn near lost my head." He went still then, before bursting into laughter, almost maniacal like. "Matter of fact, I did lose my head!" Ryder grinned as he started pulling off his leather jacket, revealing his physique to Benny. Muscles packed on top of muscles. Muscles that looked like they could bend steel and crush concrete.

And then Benny saw it then.

The metallic glint in the moonlight. Ryder grinned. "Like what you see? I sure as fucking hell do. Problem with traveling with people? You can't always trust them. And there was this one guy that I didn't like too much. Craig fucking Boone. Used to be NCR. Helluva sniper, though. Came along with me to make good on his hate for the Legion. And when I started siding with the Legion... Well, we parted ways."

Then he smiled even wider. "He sure didn't stay gone for long though. Fucker joined the NCR again. First Recon, obviously. And at the Second Battle of the Hoover Dam, right when I was done handing Oliver and his rangers their asses back, he got the drop on me. Lucky shot, though. Still blew a big fucking hole in my shoulder. And it didn't take much for the goddamn arm to get ripped off, especially with Lanius deciding the Legion was big enough for just one Legate."

"So, there was I... Avoiding sniper fire, missing a fucking arm, and trying to deal with the biggest fucking cunt in the entire Legion. Still beat his ass, though. Especially once my boys started closing in on Boone. Bastard got away, but don't you fret... We'll meet again someday, and on that day, only one of us is gonna be walking away alive."

Then he couldn't help but think of everyone else.

Not only all the people he had fought against and killed, but everyone that had fought alongside him. Some had died. Some abandoned him, unable to stand the monster he had become. And others still, sold out by the man they thought they could trust.

That was the nature of this world now. Sometimes allies could become enemies, and sometimes enemies could become allies.

It wasn't just Boone. After what he had done to the Mojave's Brotherhood, Veronica hated his guts. Last he had heard, she was with the Followers now, and happier with them. Despite the animosity between them, Ryder couldn't help but be glad for the ex-Brotherhood scribe.

And there was that fag. Arcade Cannon. Gannon. What-fucking-ever. He always respected what the Followers of the Apocalypse tried accomplishing but he knew it as well as Caesar had. It was a pointless crusade. Admirable, but pointless all the same. And Arcade didn't take so well to being sold into Caesar's care. He kept Caesar alive as long as he could, Hippocratic Oath and all.

But as soon as the man was dead, so was Arcade. Unlike his master, Lanius had no need for Arcade's wit and intelligence.

Crucifixion, always a particularly nasty way to go.

And there was that Nightkin. Lily B… Something. That relationship hadn't lasted long. Not after 'Leo' convinced her it'd be a good idea chopping up Courier Six. Six bullets to the head put an end to that idea, along with Leo and Lily. Heh, yet more symmetry.

How could he forget Raul? The goddamn gunslinging vaquero from Two Suns. Or was it Tuscon?

Eh, fucking whatever. As entertaining as the old ghoul had been, he had also always been straight with Ryder, even after he had joined the Legion. The ghoul hadn't minded the Legion at all. He admired them, really. But it had been the stunning level of brutality and savagery that Ryder demonstrated that unsettled Raul.

So, he split. There were times when Ryder wondered whenever the old man was still alive, and how he was doing. Maybe he'd find out someday. Probably not, though.

And there's Rose of Sharon Cassidy. Now she had been a hell of a companion. A great partner and an even better lay. Of all the people Ryder had fought alongside, he liked Cass the most. But hey, when you're getting offered a great deal to sell out someone… And Jean-Baptiste Cutting made a hell of an offer.

Sorry about that, Whiskey Rose. It wasn't anything personal, just business.

And then he got back his composure, clearing his throat as he flexed his metal arm. "Still... One arm? That shit wasn't gonna work for me. I heard about the Big Empty. How it was full of fuckin' pre-war tech. So I went, thinking I could get something done about my arm. Well, lack of, really."

He snorted then. He had truly gone through hell in that goddamn crater.

"Wouldn't you believe it, my brain was a real fucking cunt. But apparently, between all my brain injuries, I was the only one who survived a goddamn lobotomy. Missing my brain, yeah. But hey, I could still think and move and talk. The brains in charge were real funny about it but they made it clear, I had a job to do for them, and I never leave a job half-done. Put an end to their problems. Then I fucking ended them too. It made me Lord of the Big Empty, and put all that fucking science at my disposal. And being the never say never kinda guy, I decided... What the hell?"

Ryder chuckled then. "New and improved model, baby. Ryder Driscoll, two fucking point zero. A new arm, plus some new bits. Reinforced spine... Plenty of implants and upgrades... And whaddya know? I'm fucking heartless!" He grinned again, amused with himself. "I went into the Big Empty a mere mortal. And I came out a goddamn cyborg. Not that I'm complaining, because it's just made me far stronger than ever before." Ryder got in close to Benny then, grabbed his chin with his cybernetic hand roughly. "You know what they say, right? Whatever doesn't kill you, just makes you stranger."

And he let go of Benny. "And strange was what I needed just to survive the next goddamn road. The last fucking road, some would have thought."

Benny looked up at his adversary then, more afraid than he had ever been in his life. And he had thought House would be a formidable opponent...? There was no comparison between House and this fucking bastard.

Then...

"I walked into the fucking Divide, pally."

And there was only silence. Everyone had heard of the Divide. Everyone feared the Divide. It was a special hell unto itself. A cursed place, haunted by ghosts of the Republic and the Legion. Whole companies of NCR troopers and Legionaires had marched into the Divide... They fought and bled and died in the Divide. And they haunted it still, as living corpses. As Marked Men. And there were horrors worse still.

Deathclaws... Tunnelers... The legacy of the Old World itself...

The Divide giants hidden deep below. Everyone had heard them, thundering and shaking the earth.

Of all the people who had walked into the Divide, only two had ever walked out.

And Ryder wasn't telling anyone much about the Divide. It was... personal... to him. A part of his history. One thing everyone knew for sure, Ryder had launched some of the Divide giants and brought them crashing down on the Republic. The damage, according to reports, had been catastrophic.

It explained why the Republic had pulled out and hadn't returned in the thirteen years since then. There was still a Republic, for sure, but badly hamstrung.

By only one man.

And so, the fear grew even greater.

"Who would have thought, Benny? Thirteen years ago, you must have felt like you were at the top of the world, with the goddamn Platinum Chip in your hand." He grinned then, flipping something silvery into the air and catching it with his hand. Ryder held it up for Benny to see. It was the very same Chip he had 'killed' the Courier over. "Full circle, Benny boy. You had me on my knees, Chip in hand. How the tables have turned, eh? Now I'm standing where you were, and you're right fucking where you put me."

"Look at what you have wrought, Benny. I'm no longer Courier Six." He stopped grinning, suddenly deadly serious. "I'm something else, though. I'm a fucking ghost, Benny boy. Tougher than a Deathclaw, and a hundred times more ornier. I'm the Man without Fear. The fucking Bear Slayer. I'm the goddamn Bounty Hunter from Hell. The Grim fucking Reaper himself. And... Your finest creation. I've made my mark on the Mojave. Tomorrow, the East waits. The Legion will answer to me. Then... So will everyone else. North and south, east and west, a thousand miles in every direction, my name will be on every lip and my word will be law."

"A new Caesar for a new world. My world."

Ryder raised his arms then, holding them out as if showing himself off. "I am what you made me, Benny. I learned the lesson you taught me, the lesson Caesar and the Republic and House taught me, the lesson this fucking Wasteland taught me..."

"In this world..." Ryder growled as his lieutenant approached him, handing his master the fireaxe he had been given to hold. "In this world, Benny, only the strong survive. The weak fall and die, while the strong prey on the weak. And out of them all, I am the strongest... Caesar was wrong about one thing, though. Fuck being human. I'm the predator. I'm the strongest because I know what I really am. What the true nature of man is. It's savagery. Eat or be eaten. Kill or be killed. Rule or be ruled."

He cocked his head then. "Any last words?"

With the gag still in place, Benny could only make muffled pleas as tears flooded his eyes, as piss stained his grimy pants and collected on the dirt below him. There was no mercy in Ryder's cold eyes though.

None whatsoever.

He gripped the axe tightly with one hand, "and so, look upon your works, _amicus_ , and despair! " And he brought the fucking axe up over his head and slammed it straight down on Benny's head, splitting it in two.

Game fucking over.


End file.
